


The Canine Conundrum

by BitShifter



Category: The Avengers (1960s British TV)
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitShifter/pseuds/BitShifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steed puts on the dog. Emma struts her stuff.</p><p>The seventeenth in a series.<br/>Extraordinary crimes against the people—and the state—are being carried out by a pack of robotic Welsh Corgis...<br/>Completes the "Terrier Trilogy" started by "The Thin Spy" and "The Zed Files".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dogs Of Anarchy

**Disclaimer:** Some characters have been borrowed 

Puddles leftover from the recent rain reflected the moonlight as two figures strolled down the darkened street. One, walking dignified as he swung his umbrella; the other, swaying as she clung to his arm. 

Emma playfully removed the bowler from his head and put it on hers. 

"Mmm," she said. "I might be a little tipsy." 

Steed smiled. He knew it took a significant amount of alcohol to take even the smallest edge off her graceful coordination. But once Mrs. Peel reached that point, her voice took on a musical quality, and she definitely enjoyed physical contact more. There was no telling what she might do next. 

"I fancy a trip to your place," Emma announced. 

"Oh?" 

"I need some of that Hawaiian gourmet coffee you received for Christmas." 

"Oh." Steed managed a wry grin. "You certainly are in high spirits tonight, Mrs. Peel." 

"More like the high spirits are in me. I think the ambassadors were mixing my drinks a bit too strong." She tossed her head regally, even as she splashed along in the calf boots that she had swapped for her heels. 

Steed was once again taken in by the irresistible combination, the dichotomy that was Emma Peel. Always surrounded by an air of elegance, but with a subtle hint of decadence. She was a lady and a warrior, a princess and a paladin, a goddess and a demon, if crossed. One never knew which side was about to surface. 

"I feel safe in boots," she said breezily. "Empowered, even." 

"I've always admired you in them." 

Steed took full appreciation of her outfit. The white minidress she wore tonight was stylish yet daring—a flirty cocktail number, backless, stunningly short and thigh-revealing. He had caught enough glimpses during the evening to know that her lingerie was shiny orange and delightfully clingy. A very mod look indeed. Even better, he suspected the quick hemline views that Mrs. Peel had provided him weren't entirely accidental. 

He touched his head to hers. "You spent most of the night locked in impassioned conversation with that fellow from The Times." 

"I sent you several messages to come to my rescue." 

"I may have received them, if they were tangerine. But you seemed to be enjoying the discussion so much, I didn't dare interrupt." 

"An excellent act on my part," Emma said. "What about yourself? You were talking at length to that willowy young blonde." 

"She works at the Ministry," Steed protested innocently. "I was merely extending a professional courtesy." 

"Oh, is _that_ what you call it...," she teased. 

Steed had a hard time keeping his eyes off Emma's legs. While many young women in the 60's went for a brazen appearance, Mrs. Peel always revealed just enough to be at the same time enticing and maddening. Her hip casually brushed against his as they walked. He felt an instinctive stirring, and he tried to imagine her in something proper and Victorian to counteract the effect. For some reason, his vision kept changing back to sexy curves in taut black leather. 

"So what did she say?" Emma asked. 

"Who?" 

"The willowy blonde." 

Steed grinned. "Apparently, I've become a celebrity down at Whitehall these days." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Oh, really?" 

"Not that you should be jealous; you've got quite a following there yourself. The secretaries have set up an informal fan club that worships you." 

"Perhaps I should get them a gift subscription to the Oxford Journal. I'm in next month's issue." 

He had been told that Mrs. Peel boasted an IQ several dozen points higher than his own, and after their short time working together, he had no reason to doubt it. Her articles regularly showed up in scholarly publications, with fields of expertise ranging from psychiatry to ballistics, from pathology to Hatha yoga. 

Steed continued, "Actually, the women were far more interested in your physical skills. There are even calls for you to teach a self-defense course." 

"Happily. That way they can keep those stuffed-shirt male bureaucrats in line." 

He tugged on his collar. "Hey, that's _me_ you're talking about." 

" _Especially_ you," Emma teased liltingly. 

Steed smiled. Emma Peel was not a woman to be trifled with. There were her signature karate chops and lightning kicks, of course, that could leave a strong man helpless and groaning no matter where they made contact, though they usually struck a key nerve plexus in the neck or torso. And in the heat of battle against diabolical masterminds, she had become particularly skilled at delivering incapacitating strikes with her knee. 

"Mmm," she said. "You're very warm." 

Mrs. Peel was pressing her soft breasts against his arm. The fine liquor served at the party had made her unusually aggressive. He didn't want to take advantage of her in this state, but if she really started asserting herself, well, a man could only resist so much. 

He straightened the bowler on her head. "I also saw you with the Ambassador from the Emirate of Munkiz." 

Emma nodded. "He was quite handsy." 

"Attempting to negotiate a treaty for the southern border, I think," Steed said. "It's remarkable how when you went to freshen your drink, the ice cube flew clear across the room and smacked him in the nose." 

"The tongs slipped. Purely an accident." 

"A prodigious flight, nonetheless," Steed mused. "A slip of the tong, you say? Ten feet at least." 

"Well below my lethal range," she said smugly. 

An unmarked van was parked at the far end of the street. Steed drifted towards the opposite curb to get a better look. Emma followed, still clinging to him amorously. She reached across his chest. 

"I distinctly saw the willowy blonde slip something into your pocket," she said. 

Steed flinched as she dipped her hand into his jacket. He was still sporting a few sore ribs from where Mrs. Peel had accidentally kicked him during sparring practice the day before. To his way of thinking, the injury had been worth it just to see her bare midriff between the form-fitting nylon gym briefs and crop top. Emma opened the paper with a dramatic rustle. 

"A sequence of numbers," she teased. "Must be some sort of code." 

He feigned seriousness. "I'll have to get Bletchley to work on it right away." 

Emma said nothing, just smiled enigmatically as she tore the note into little pieces. 

Steed's mouth opened. "What was that for?" 

"Eliminating the competition." 

As Emma put the scraps back into his pocket and patted it, she noticed his pained wince. "Doesn't hurt too much, does it?" 

"I'll be all right, but the willowy blonde will be devastated." 

"I meant your ribs." 

"Your instep packs a mean wallop." 

She smirked wickedly. "You have no one to blame but yourself, for dropping your guard." 

"I was distracted by your navel." 

"You could easily be attacked by women wearing far less than me." 

He grinned. "It staggers the imagination." 

The sound of a muffled explosion echoed just around the corner. Within seconds, several small shapes very low to the ground could be seen moving in the darkness towards the van. A distant jangling of an alarm was carried on the breeze. 

Steed blinked. "What in the world is that?" 

"Don't ask silly questions, Steed. It's obviously a pack of Welsh Corgi dogs with sacks of loot in their mouths." Emma watched quizzically as they trotted past in the illumination of the streetlight. "Have I been drinking?" 

"No more than I have. Perhaps the Queen's nearby and needs some mad money." 

Emma pointed. "They're heading for that van." 

The van door slid open and a large dog could be seen jumping into the interior, followed by the acrobatic small dogs. Emma released Steed's arm with the idea to sprint after them, only to grab it back when she realized her lack of equilibrium. While she was debating pursuit, Steed noticed one of the dogs lagging behind. Even as he watched, it rolled over on its back, its feet perfectly stiff as fire shot outwards from its belly. 

"Good heavens!" Steed remarked. "That one's gone down in flames!" 

Emma was focused on the van as it drove off in a cloud of exhaust. By the time she turned back to see where Steed was pointing, the bright flash had subsided. 

"What are you talking about?" she asked. 

"I just witnessed a canine conflagration. Sparks and detonation." 

"That's ridiculous. Dogs don't explode." She examined the area he had indicated. "Are you sure you didn't imagine it? There's no sign of anything there now." 

"Probably nothing left but Corgi smithereens." 

"You said you saw sparks shooting out of it?" she asked. "Maybe it was one of the explosive devices used for the robbery, rather than a dog." 

"For its sake, I sincerely hope so." Steed retrieved his bowler from Emma's head and pressed the brim against his lips in thought. "This isn't the first time this has happened," he mused. "Last week, there was an incident of obvious arson at a government warehouse. No one was hurt, but several hundred gallons of experimental rocket fuel was destroyed." 

"And what does that have to do with this?" 

"A Corgi was spotted fleeing the scene with a lit match in his mouth." 

Emma snorted. "He probably saw the real arsonist discard it and went off to fetch it, like a stick." 

"Flaming stick retrieval?" Steed teased. "That must take some obedience training." 

"Are you telling me that random acts of sabotage and theft are being carried out by roving packs of pet dogs?" 

"Mostly minor capers with no casualties, but I'm convinced they're training for something big." 

Emma snatched back the bowler and put it on her head. 

"We definitely need coffee," she announced. 

-oOo-

Ambassador Sergei Brodny studied the piece of paper in the early morning air, then checked the address on the warehouse in front of him. More crazy orders from the KGB. Why were they always sending him to these forsaken places? It wasn't right to force him to engage in such skullduggery; he belonged at cocktail parties rubbing elbows with the other ambassadors, not doing cloak-and-dagger work. 

Now last night, that was a party! Middle Eastern ambassadors. Expensive liquor. Emma Peel wearing a minidress. Of course, she had probably chosen it just to flirt with John Steed; likewise with the seductive lingerie that occasionally peeked out. Still, the assembled crowd was most appreciative of her beauty regardless of who it was aimed at, himself included. 

He finally found a matching number next to an open garage with a van parked inside. A small Corgi trotted out to meet him. 

"Ah!" Brodny grinned as he leaned over to pat the dog. "Such a cute little _sobaka_!" 

The dog suddenly looked at him with glowing red eyes. Furry panels flipped open on its shoulders and electric motors whirred as tiny weapons were deployed. 

Brodny continued, "And such cute little doors and missiles... Wait! _Doors and missiles?_ " 

A man dressed in coveralls appeared from behind the van. "Don't make any sudden moves, Ambassador," he cautioned. "Zeus, come over here and take control of your charges. Ambassador Brodny is a friend." 

A large German Shepherd galloped over and barked at the robotic dog. The weapons retracted. 

"They call me The Handler," the man said as he led Brodny towards a small office. "This way, Ambassador." 

Brodny delicately eased past a muscular blond-haired man who was obviously providing security for the operation. The Handler seated himself at a desk and held up the morning newspaper. 

"You read about the bank robbery last night?" he began. "It was the dog pack you see here." He gestured to a row of Corgis lined up along the far wall, plugged into outlets, recharging. 

Brodny arched his brow. "They are all machines?" 

"All except Zeus." The Handler poured a cup of coffee for himself, then offered one to Brodny. "The Corgi mechanoids were originally designed for use by the KGB to perform infiltration and sabotage." 

"So why rob banks?" 

"We need funds to make our new project self-sustaining." 

_I see,_ Brodny smirked to himself. _Moscow doesn't believe in it enough to send money._ "What is this new project?" he asked. 

"We're trying to create a special collar that will translate human brainwaves into canine brainwaves. This will allow us to control actual dogs." 

Brodny finally sipped the coffee. "Why do you need to do that, if you have the little sobaki?" 

"The mechanoids are fine, but they have no intelligence or decision-making ability," said the Handler. "They require a live dog to lead them on their missions." 

"You mean—?" Brodny pointed to the German Shepherd that had stretched out on the floor next to him. 

The Handler nodded. "It took years to train Zeus, and there's only one of him. But imagine if we could take a dog with no training, and use him for sabotage." 

"You can do such a thing?" 

"We have a prototype. It doesn't fit in a collar; it requires a headband to project the behavioral impulses into the dog's mind. With more development, we believe we can miniaturize the electronics." 

"It sounds very expensive." 

The Handler nodded. "That's where you come in." 

Brodny smiled nervously and began patting his pockets. "I-I don't carry sums of large money on my person." 

The muscular blond-haired man stepped into the room and crossed his arms as he blocked the exit. The Handler smiled evilly. 

"That is Helmut," the Handler announced. "It's not your money we need. You're familiar with the Prince of Munkiz?" 

Brodny answered warily, "His delegation was at the party last night." 

"Robbing banks isn't an efficient way to fund our work," the Handler explained. "We lose too many Corgis, and they don't have the cargo capacity to get away with very much money. That's why it would be more effective to go for a single item that has a value of more than a million pounds." 

"Oh?" The Russian ambassador set down his coffee. 

"The Prince of Munkiz has a precious gemstone that he has brought with him here to England." 

Brodny fidgeted, unhappy with where the conversation was heading. "But... where is it kept?" 

Helmut finally spoke up. "At their Embassy." 

"You're an ambassador," the Handler said. "You can visit the compound where the Prince of Munkiz is staying, can't you?" 

"W-why would I want to do that?" 

The Handler smiled. "We can smuggle the mechanoids inside the day before, packed in boxes. But we need you to get the live dog in to lead the mission." 

"Him?" Brodny pointed to Zeus. "Walking in with a dangerous-looking dog like that would be very suspicious! The guard would never let me through the gate." 

"What if I told you I had control of an animal that could pass through the embassy gates unquestioned, a dog that is known by most of the Ministry's personnel on sight?" 

"What do you mean?" 

The Handler whisked the cover off a small kennel in the corner of the room. "I present to you—Controlled Agent K-9!" 

Inside the cage was a scruffy wire-haired fox terrier. A shiny metal circlet was perched on his head. He barked a greeting. 

"I've seen Steed with that dog!" Brodny gasped. 

-oOo-


	2. Pet Superiority

**Chapter 2**

Steed followed Emma up the entry stairs at the Ministry in Whitehall. He tipped his hat to a passing bureaucrat; Steed's attire blended in perfectly with the other workers at the facility—dark suit, umbrella, bowler. Emma's outfit was also suitable for meeting with lords and ministers: a brown plaid wool skirt, cut well below the knee, along with an orange silk blouse. Steed recognized the color—it was the same as the lingerie he had seen peeking out from her minidress last night. Had she worn tangerine just to tease him? Mrs. Peel turned and gave him a mischievous smile, and he felt certain of it. 

"Something wrong with my outfit?" she asked innocently. "You seem a little flushed." 

"Just admiring the color," he said with a smile. 

Last night, duty had demanded that he report by phone the strange activity they had both witnessed on the way home from the party: a pack of Welsh Corgis robbing a bank. While Emma was making the coffee, Steed received verification that several thousand pounds had indeed been whisked away from a nearby financial institution; and furthermore, that he should bring Mrs. Peel along with him to an early morning meeting with the Armourer. This had interfered with any plans Steed might have had to charm her out of the white minidress. 

He snapped an ID badge onto his lapel and wagged it at Emma. 

"Want one of these?" he asked. 

Emma continued striding purposefully down the corridor. 

"No, thanks," she said breezily. "I don't need one of _those_ to get in." 

Steed shrugged and smiled. "Just doing my part to reduce the number of unconscious bodies littering the hallways." 

"I would never enter here by force, only by subterfuge," Emma smirked. "Mandarins are easy to trick." 

He tugged on his collar. "Hey, that's _me_ you're talking about." 

" _Especially_ you," she teased liltingly. "So why am I here?" 

Steed nodded. "The Armourer has a presentation. It concerns what we saw last night." 

They descended to the basement where the Armourer regularly hid among his weapons cache and firing range. A secretary in a prim white blouse and short skirt waved them through. Her eyes lit up when she saw Mrs. Peel; she immediately started shadow-boxing the air in front of her, faking two karate chops and firing a wicked knee at a make-believe opponent. 

Emma watched with an amused look as they walked past. 

"Your willowy blonde may have been right about the fan club," she murmured. 

The Armourer rushed out to greet them. 

"Ah, Steed!" he said energetically. "I heard about your report last night. Normally, I'd dismiss it as something you hallucinated in an inebriated stupor; but since you said Mrs. Peel saw something as well, I took it seriously." 

"She had more to drink than I did!" Steed protested. 

"I'm certain that this is what you encountered," he began as he led them to a worktable in the lab. 

A Welsh Corgi dog stood there, completely motionless. As Emma neared, it suddenly stirred to life and wagged its tail. She reached forward to pet it before noticing that instead of a leash on its collar, it had a thick wiring harness that led to a bank of humming electrical equipment. The Armourer smiled as he displayed a remote control box with buttons and dials. 

Emma gave a startled laugh. "Is there an actual dog under all that?" 

The Armourer shook his head. "No. It's purely a mechanoid, no organic parts." 

"It's so realistic." She leaned forward and stroked the Corgi's head. The Armourer pressed a button, and a dozen different doors popped open along the length of the dog's body, tiny weapons deploying from each of them. 

Emma jumped back. "Give me some warning before you do that!" 

"Sorry, couldn't resist," he said sheepishly. "Our UXB men managed to retrieve this little guy intact. Turns out his self-destruct device was faulty. If something happens and a Corgi can't keep up with the pack, it blows itself up to remove any evidence." 

Emma looked at Steed. "So you did see a dog explode last night." 

The Armourer unveiled a chart on the wall that contained cross-sectional blueprints and a schematic diagram. 

"This," he said grandly, "is the Tupolev Mark VII Battle Corgi." 

"Battle Corgi?" Steed asked incredulously. 

The Armourer nodded. "Lucky you stayed passive observers last night. Just one of these could have made things very uncomfortable for you—and you said a whole pack was there." 

Steed tried to follow. "So they weren't actually dogs, they were all these _Battle Corgis?_ " 

"Indeed. The KGB's ultimate pet-superiority platform," the Armourer announced triumphantly. "Just take a look at this weaponry," he said, smacking the chart with a long pointer. 

"Rapid-fire anesthetic darts in the shoulders—fifty rounds each side. Smoke canister in the rear to obscure its location and make it difficult to bring down while it's setting its explosive charges. Electric shock prods which extend from its flanks, powerful enough to stun a man." 

"In fact, it has only one real weakness," the Armourer concluded. "As an official 'Pembroke' model, it has no tail weapon." 

Emma furrowed her brow. "That's a weakness?" 

The Armourer smirked, "Mounting a high-powered laser on a rapid-action tail, such as a terrier, can be devastating." 

Steed and Emma both leaned closer to examine the now-inert mechanoid. 

"As for the payload," the Armourer continued, "it has two massive C4 plastic explosive packs in detachable underbelly-tanks," he tapped the dog with the pointer, "here... and here." 

The Armourer pursed his lips. "Alternately, the tanks could be used to store accelerant for simple arson rather than explosions, dispensed through, uh, well, the standard orifice." He waved in the general direction of the hind legs with the pointer. 

"Er—yes," Emma suppressed a laugh. "The device is certainly versatile. Does it work by radio-control?" 

"No. Some of the places it has to penetrate are so heavily shielded that radio signals can't reach. The Battle Corgi needs to function autonomously." 

Steed chimed in, "So it must be run on internal electronics, like an onboard computer." 

The Armourer shook his head. "Not at all. That's just it. No computer sophisticated enough to direct a complex operation could fit in a space that small. That's why the Battle Corgi is _electronically slaved_ with photosensors to follow the movements of a trained sabotage dog that directs the mechanoid to its targets. So one of the pack is always a living animal. Hundreds, even thousands of hours go into training a command-and-control sabotage dog." 

"That big dog that jumped into the van," Emma said suddenly. "It must have been the controller." 

The Armourer nodded. "Typically, dogs of high intelligence are used, such as German Shepherds." 

"You seem to know an awful lot about this." 

"Alas, the Reds are way ahead of us in dog-based weapons-delivery systems," the Armourer sighed. 

"You sound disappointed." 

He spread his hands expansively. "Of course, we have designed bigger models than the Soviets. Our heavy-duty artificial Russian Wolfhound, the Avro 'Grand Slam' Borzoi Model 38 can carry more than four times the payload of a Battle Corgi. But the instability caused by the spindly legs, the high failure rates in the field—well, it all contributed to its downfall as a pet-based superiority platform." 

Emma crouched down and looked into the dog's mouth. "What kind of weapons are in the tongue?" 

"None!" the Armourer answered. "It's the most realistic tongue that technology can create. It has to be completely believable when it's licking a human's hand to gain entry into the target zone." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Couldn't you fit the same kind of weapons into mechanoids that look like cats?" 

"Theoretically, yes. But there are two major problems for realism. The first problem is technical—it's difficult to design a fuselage with the necessary flexibility. A real cat can virtually tie itself in a knot," the Armourer said. "The second is psychological—when one sees a large group of cats acting in concert, appearing to follow orders, it is immediately suspicious; cats only do what they want to do, not what others tell them to do. You see a pack of a dozen cats faithfully trotting over to a top secret installation, you think 'Those can't be real cats—they must be artificial mechanoid weapons platforms!'" 

Steed shook his head in disbelief. "Can you imagine if they ever snuck a pack of these in to surround the Queen?" 

"Precisely why the Corgi was chosen as the delivery platform," the Armourer declared. "As you can imagine, the Royal Dogs are carefully screened on a daily basis. Now, let me show you some devices I've come up with on my own..." 

-oOo-

Emma kicked off her shoes and reclined on the Regency sofa. If only she could get a few minutes of sleep to recover from her hangover, she would be fine. She watched as Steed poured freshly brewed tea in the kitchen. 

He had changed into a cream-colored sweater on arriving back at his apartment. Very dapper. She should change as well, she thought; she could quietly slip out of all her clothes and curl up for a nap. What would Steed's reaction be when he found her sleeping nude on his couch? It would be an interesting experiment. She could easily get an entire article for a psychology journal just by observing his response. 

She knew she had been significantly tipsy last night, and her level of flirting would have reduced any ordinary man to a quivering mass of hormones. But not Steed. He certainly was a cool customer. It only made her want him more. She undid the top few buttons of the orange silk blouse that exactly matched her lingerie. Emma smiled wickedly to herself. At least he had noticed that much. 

Steed walked in with a tray and set out some shortbread cookies. Then he carefully put a cup of tea on a saucer, added her preferred amount of sugar, stirred it in, and passed it to her along with the spoon. Very admirable, his waiting on her hand and foot. She gave him bonus points for knowing the correct way to tend to her needs. 

The phone rang and Emma lunged for it. She might have to act as call screener in case the willowy blond proved resourceful enough to get the number. 

"John Steed's residence," she sang politely into the receiver. A feminine voice answered at the other end. 

"Emma? This is Rita." 

It was the voice of Rita Fox, the ex-Ministry librarian who had worked with Steed a year ago. She was now head of the Research Department at the University of Wales in Swansea. 

"Spumante's missing," Rita began. 

Emma jumped to attention. Rita was referring to a wire-haired fox terrier named "Captain's Asti Spumanti" that Steed had inherited from Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe earlier this year. The dog had become more or less community property among the various Ministry operatives, and had been staying in Swansea at a training facility for women agents humorously known as "The Spy School." 

"I see," Emma answered, furrowing her brow. "Well, he hasn't shown up here. Do you think he's in trouble?" 

"No, I'm sure he can take care of himself. Ever since the last holiday he spent with you, Spumi seems... oh, I don't know— _smarter_." 

Emma thought, _That could be due to the neuroaccelerator drug that he was exposed to in June._ Although Dr. Cephalus was a certifiable crackpot, the effectiveness of his "ThinkFast" drug was still subject to speculation. 

"Undoubtedly he's responding to the strict training regimen I put him through," Emma said. "Spumante's finally starting to behave like a proper dog." 

"So you drove him to run off on a rebellious spree?" Rita teased. 

"More likely that he's found a lady terrier. He is Steed's dog, after all." 

Rita laughed, "Well, it's not like he would be involved in any sort of super-secret spy operation." 

Emma pondered for a moment. "Actually, did you try calling Mother? Perhaps the Spy School wanted to use him as window dressing for a mission." 

"I didn't think of that. That's a good idea." 

"I'll call you right away if he turns up," Emma promised. 

She hung up the phone and turned to Steed. "There's something about dogs this week. It's quite a conundrum." 

"It's going to get even stranger," Steed said as he showed her a packet he had received from the Ministry. "We've been asked to perform guard duty tonight, possibly to prevent another canine caper." 

"We?" Emma gave him a withering stare. 

Steed made a gesture of helplessness. "They asked for you personally. We're supposed to protect a rare and expensive emerald, The Beryl of Munkiz." 

Emma smiled cockily. "What could be more fun?" 

"Bad puns aside, the Ambassador of Munkiz has given us special permission to stand guard at the Embassy." 

"Ah, the handsy one," Emma recalled. 

"When he heard you might be available, he jumped at the chance." 

"No doubt. I'll be wearing my leathers, just to make sure there's no hems for him to lift." 

Steed mused, "If we manage to save the emerald, you can always chuck it at his nose." 

"Why suddenly now?" Emma frowned. "Is there some reason to suspect a threat?" 

"Ambassador Brodny has requested a visit to the embassy tonight," Steed grinned. 

-oOo-


	3. Extra-Sensory

**Chapter 3**

"There it is," Steed said with a flourish. "The Beryl of Munkiz." 

Emma stood next to him as they admired the brilliant green gem mounted in a glass case atop a stone pedestal. 

"Hard to say that name without laughing," she said. 

"It suffers in the translation from Munkizian." Steed was impeccably dressed in a light-gray Cardin suit and his trademark bowler. Mrs. Peel looked like a dangerous weapon at his side, wearing zip-up black leather from her neck to her ankles. Steed mused that they usually seemed to end up attired this way—him dressed for diplomacy, her for action. 

She wasn't wearing her heavy motorcycling leathers tonight, but something thinner and more lightweight, in a clingy bodysuit that was easier to move in. It was also, consequently, a bit more revealing. 

"No need to worry," Steed said as he eyed her outfit. "The Ambassador from Munkiz won't be here." 

Emma caught his glance. "What's the point in wearing a blouse and skirt if the baddies show up?" she said. "Best to be prepared." 

Steed walked towards the gem. "No problem there. Anything tries to get too close to the emerald, and..." 

He swung his umbrella through the air a few feet in front of the display case. Emma was startled as heavy steel doors slammed shut at the entrance to the room. 

Steed grinned. "Just to be safe, most of the electric eyes have been lowered to Corgi-height. We're not taking any chances of having something sneak in under the radar." 

Emma squinted at the case. "I can't see anything." 

"The beams are infrared. The Armourer tells me they should be invisible to a Battle Corgi's sensors," Steed explained. "Anything breaks the circuit, and it seals the display room, trapping any mechanoids inside." 

"Couldn't they just blast their way out?" 

Steed patted the thick metal doors. "These should withstand any blast a Battle Corgi would be likely to dish out. We're working on the assumption that they're not going to be carrying enough munitions to bring down the whole building. It wouldn't be any use to them if they had to sift through rubble to find the emerald." He inserted a key into a wall socket to open the doors. "Besides, If we manage to separate the mechanoids from the German Shepherd that controls them, they'll just wander about aimlessly, or even self-destruct." 

"You certainly have this all figured out," Emma said. "Why not just lock the jewel in a vault?" 

"And have it look like Britain can't even guarantee the security of the embassies here? We'd be a laughingstock." 

"Better than the international incident caused if the emerald is stolen." 

He straightened his bowler. "That's what were here to prevent. Feel up to the task?" 

Emma circled the display pedestal at a distance, moving with catlike grace, careful to avoid the electric eyes. 

"It certainly is exposed," she mused. 

"The Prince likes to parade visitors around to show off. You know, the whole 'The rocks from my country are prettier than the rocks from your country' sort of thing." 

"Something about the set-up makes me uncomfortable," Emma frowned. "But I suppose it should be enough. Are there still some sensors positioned up high, in case Brodny makes a try for the jewel himself?" 

Steed nodded. "Two or three. Even Brodny shouldn't be able to contort enough to pass through undetected." 

Emma picked out a hiding place behind a large potted plant that had an unobstructed view of both the entrance and the display case. "We'll set up here," she announced. She crouched down next to the wall and pulled out a walkie-talkie to speak to the guard at the main gate. 

Of course, the communication device had been generously provided by the head guard the instant he met Emma. One glimpse of her in the tight catsuit, and he fell all over himself to make sure they could stay in constant contact. Steed wondered if Mrs. Peel was even aware of how sexy she looked in the outfit. 

It wasn't just her leathers; it was the way her body fit into them. One time, while escaping from a lift shaft, a narrow scrape had caused a tear across the front of her suit, revealing a suprising amount of bare skin. Steed couldn't help but stare wide-eyed. Mrs. Peel had demurely covered herself with one arm while explaining that she never wore a brassiere under her leathers; she found it too confining in case she needed to fight. Steed had smiled pleasantly and said, "Of course!", giving her his jacket to cover up. 

But secretly ever since, whenever she dressed in her action gear, he always took the time to admire her perfect breasts in their natural, unrestrained state. The delightful way they canted slightly outward, their rhythmic jounce when she walked, the firm tips that appeared through the leather when she was angry or excited. Steed cast her a sideways glance. She was definitely excited now. 

A loud burst of static interrupted his reverie. Emma pressed the receiver to her ear, listening to a message. 

"Brodny is at the gate and he has a small dog with him," she announced. "It must be a Battle Corgi!" 

"Just one shouldn't be much of a problem," Steed answered in a low voice. "The Armourer gave me this." 

He pulled out a cylinder that looked like a flashlight. "The beam from this should temporarily incapacitate the circuits of any mechanoid as long as it stays pointed at it. Just aim and press this button." 

"Here comes Brodny!" Emma whispered harshly. She flattened against the wall next to Steed. 

Ambassador Brodny had entered the foyer with a small dog on a leash. He seemed at a loss about what to do next. He scanned the various hallways, apparently looking for a landmark. The dog paced impatiently, as if annoyed with his master. 

"It's hard to tell which one of them is smarter," Emma smirked. 

Brodny tried to walk down the wrong hall, away from the gem. The dog pulled insistently in the other direction. 

"I guess that answers the question," Steed grinned. "Let's see if this little gizmo works." He aimed the device at the intruders and pressed the button. The dog seemed unaffected, continuing to lead Brodny towards the gem's display area. 

Steed wrinkled his mouth. "Never rely on gadgets." 

Emma squinted in the darkness "Wait! That's not a Battle Corgi," she said. "It's... it's _Asti Spumante_!" 

"Spumi?" Steed poked his head out for a better view. "That explains why the device failed." 

Brodny crouched down next to the terrier and unhooked the leash. "Time to go to work now, little _sobaka!_ " he urged. 

The terrier trotted over to a spot only a few feet from where Steed and Mrs. Peel were hiding. They could see that a metal circlet rested over the dog's ears. Brodny set a small box on the floor, extended an antenna from it, and started talking into his lapel. 

"What's Spumi wearing?" Emma asked, puzzled. "Something for the robbery?" 

Brodny pulled a strange rubber and glass contraption from his inner jacket pocket. He called the terrier over and attached it around the dog's head. It was a pair of goggles. 

"Even more gear," Steed whispered. "He looks like Snoopy chasing the Red Baron." 

Brodny turned and walked back to the front of the building, leaving the dog unattended. 

Emma furrowed her brow. "Where's he going?" 

"Probably to fulfill his meeting with the Ambassador of Munkiz, to keep his cover. He has immunity, so we can't do anything to him, anyway. Try calling Spumante over here." 

Emma made some clicking noises with her mouth. The terrier ignored her. 

She shrugged. "He won't obey." 

"Maybe they've brainwashed him." 

"What do you mean? He doesn't obey me half the time, even without being brainwashed." 

Steed said, "Regardless, how much damage could one dog do?" 

Emma snapped her fingers. "The goggles. They must detect infrared. Spumi's going to use them to see the alarm beams." She started to move out from her hiding place. "He's going to try to steal the emerald." 

But the terrier was moving in the opposite direction from the gem. He trotted over to the ventilator grille and pressed a lever with his paw. The grate swung open. 

With a loud scuffling sound, more than a dozen small dogs swarmed out of the air shaft. From the glowing red eyes to the short legs and low bodies, there could be no mistaking that these were Battle Corgis. 

"Oh, that little traitor!" Emma hissed. "He really is working for the enemy!" 

Steed nodded thoughtfully. "The only part of the scheme that required Brodny was getting the _live_ dog into the embassy—the command-and-control sabotage dog. The mechanoids could have been smuggled in at any time, in a deactivated state." 

"Spumante, a command-and-control dog?" Emma asked incredulously. "And how could they smuggle in that many Battle Corgis?" 

"In the janitor's van, disguised as dust mops?" 

"Well, I'm putting a stop to this," she proclaimed as she once more started to emerge from hiding. 

"Wait!" Steed touched her arm. "If we don't interfere until they're all inside, they'll be trapped when they break the alarm beams. That way, we won't have to confront any of their weapons." 

"That assumes they break the alarm beams." 

"They have to, unless Spumi does his 'Flying Dog' act again." 

Emma frowned. "You don't think..." 

They both watched dumbfounded as four corgi mechanoids lined up in a row in front of the electric eyes. Three more mounted on top of those, then two more on the very top to form a ramp. 

"They're making a human pyramid?" Emma ventured. 

"More like a dogpile-amid," Steed corrected. 

Spumante ran up onto the pile and leaped off the top with an acrobatic flip, missing all of the electric eyes. One by one, several Corgis followed exactly in his footsteps. 

"I've seen enough!" Emma cried. "It's time to protect the emerald." She ran towards the gem. A Battle Corgi came out to challenge her. 

"Careful, Mrs. Peel!" Steed warned. 

Telescopic metal rods extended from the dog's flanks and crackled with electricity. Three more Corgis lined up behind the first, in case she had any ideas about jumping over the mechanoid. The entire column started advancing on her. 

Emma was forced to retreat, when suddenly the attacking mechanoid stopped moving. She turned her head and saw that Steed had pointed the neutralizing device at it. 

Spumante barked a command to the Corgis that had accompanied him over the alarm beams. Each one of them went to a corner of the display pedestal and dropped a tiny explosive pack. There was a series of muffled explosions, and the pedestal toppled to the floor with a crash of breaking glass. The terrier trotted gingerly through the shards and picked up the emerald in his mouth. 

"Oh, no you don't!" Emma picked up the immobilized Corgi in front of her and tossed it toward the display case, hoping to trigger the electric eyes and seal the thieves in. But she had forgotten that the sensors had been repositioned to Corgi-height; her aim was too high, and the hurled mechanoid missed the alarm beams entirely. Instead, the dog rotated once in mid-air (didn't she remember seeing an internal gyroscope in the Armourer's plans?) before landing on its feet like a cat. 

"They haven't used any smoke canisters yet," Steed said. "Why not?" 

"Someone must need to see," Emma shouted. "That box that Brodny set on the floor might be a camera to help with the robbery." 

Steed quickly kicked the box away, breaking its antenna, but it was already too late. The dog pack was now trying to make its getaway. A row of Corgis once again advanced on Emma. The fur-covered doors in their shoulders popped open as their weapons deployed. 

"Head for cover, Mrs. Peel!" Steed ran in front of her and lowered his bowler into the line of fire. Mini-darts ricocheted off its steel dome, pinging like an alarm bell. 

"Smoke!" Steed warned as the air was suddenly filled with chemical droplets. Emma nimbly somersaulted for cover behind the potted plant. Steed joined her, using his bowler to fan away the vapor. 

"This is starting to look a bit like a war zone," he commented. Darts peppered the walls to either side of them. 

"We're pinned down," Emma said. 

Through the smoke, all they could see were the glowing red eyes of the Battle Corgis. Then Spumante appeared, carrying the emerald in his mouth. 

Emma narrowed her eyes. "He's taunting us." 

Steed aimed the neutralizer device at the red eyes in the smoke. The pack must have converted into "escape" mode; the dogs fled from the beam, and the one mechanoid he managed to hit rolled over and exploded. The entire group galloped out of the display room, towards the front of the embassy. 

"Come on," Steed said. "We should at least try to get a description of the getaway van." He grabbed Emma by the hand and had already started to pull before he realized she wasn't following. 

"I-I didn't think they could penetrate the leather...," she said. 

"What happened?" Steed knelt next to her in concern. 

"My leg must have been hit by an anesthetic dart. It's gone numb. I can't stand or walk," she said. "You go on without me." 

"Nonsense, Mrs. Peel." Steed picked up the walkie-talkie and alerted the guard at the gate to stop any exiting vehicles. Then he scooped up Emma in his arms. 

"Ready to go?" he asked cockily. 

Emma wrapped her arms tightly around his neck with her lips close to his ear. 

"Mmm," she purred. "It was almost worth taking a dart in the leg to have you carry me like a princess." 

-oOo-

Steed set Emma gently down on his Regency sofa. 

She let out a deep sigh. "That didn't go very well." 

"Look at the bright side—if 'robotic corgi tossing' ever becomes an Olympic event, you've qualified." 

"Bring me a sweater and a scarf," she commanded. 

"Planning on accessorizing?" 

"For treatment." 

Steed went off to his bedroom and rummaged around for a few moments before returning with a turtleneck and a silk scarf. 

"If the numbness has already spread, it's a bit late for a tourniquet," he advised. 

"The scarf's not for me." Emma pulled his head lower until his face was only inches from hers. Then she tied the scarf over his eyes to blindfold him. 

"And... this is for?" 

"I'll have to remove my leathers to expose the dart site, and without being able to bend my right leg, I can only get them down to my waist. You'll have to pull them off the rest of the way." Emma intertwined her fingers with his and led his hands towards her body. 

"But suppose I accidentally touch you somewhere indiscreet?" 

Her wry smile was echoed in her voice. "I guess that's a chance I'll have to take." 

Steed heard a long, slow zip. The sound was intensely erotic. Then he picked up the crinkling of leather being pulled over skin. His imagination ran wild. Not being able to see had enhanced his other senses. 

He recalled from earlier that she probably wasn't wearing a bra under her leathers. Could she be topless right now? Emma guided his hands down her sides, and his guess was confirmed; there was no fabric, only warm flesh and the slight swell where her breasts began. 

She fastened his fingers onto the soft leather gathered at her waist. Now he understood the reason for the blindfold; it took a fair amount of effort to wrangle the suit past her hips. It was impossible for him not to make contact with her lingerie. His sense of touch had been magnified so that he could easily tell her panties weren't made of silk, but rather a thin nylon material that she must wear for exercise. They felt slightly damp at the waist—were they clinging? Perhaps even transparent? Surely, she must have known what exquisite torture this was for him... 

Steed felt tiny bumps rise on her legs as he worked the leather down to her ankles. Did his fingertips excite her, or was this just a thermal reaction of moist, exposed skin? He breathed in her scent that was heady, musky, and laced with pheromones. How much more of this could he take? 

Steed smirked, "Aren't you afraid I might take advantage of you in your immobile state?" 

"Oh, if only that were true," she teased back. He heard her pull the sweater on over her head. 

"You can look now." 

Steed removed the blindfold. Emma sat on the couch with both legs dangling over the side. She wore only the turtleneck, which she had tugged down so that it resembled a minidress. He knelt at her feet to examine her bare thigh. There were two tiny red welts, like bee stings. 

"You were hit twice. Must have been rapid-fire. How does it feel?" 

"Like my thigh's been to the dentist." She gave him an innocent smile. "As tempting as the idea may be, I can't have you carry me around everywhere like Snow White. Perhaps if you massage it?" 

Steed's eyes lit up. "Gladly, Mrs. Peel." He took the spot next to her on the sofa. 

Emma reclined on the Regency and propped her legs across his lap, tucking the sweater between her legs for modesty's sake. Steed began briskly rubbing her thigh. She let out a chirp of both surprise and pleasure at his skill. 

"I'm sure Spumante was being controlled," she began. 

"Brainwashed?" Steed asked. "Or some kind of crash course in obedience training?" 

"Remember the box on the floor we thought might be a camera?" Emma mused. "Perhaps it wasn't just to watch the robbery in progress. Maybe someone was feeding Spumi commands directly, as events happened." 

"How would they do that? An ultrasonic whistle?" 

Emma was clearly impressed by Steed's insight. She gave him a nod of admiration before continuing. "Actually, I think it had something to do with that metal circlet we saw on Spumante's head, before Brodny put the goggles on him." 

Steed's fingertips traced a delicate pattern on her thigh. 

"Any sensation coming back?" he asked. 

She looked at him slyly. "I'm definitely feeling something." 

They were interrupted by the phone. Steed answered the call and talked in hushed tones for several minutes while Emma stood and tried to walk around the room. Her efforts were ragged at best. Steed hung up the phone just as she collapsed into his arms with an embarrassed laugh. 

"I think I need more massage," she said. 

"I was hoping you'd say that." He resumed his place next to her on the couch. "A ransom has been demanded for the emerald." 

"That was fast." 

"It saves the thieves the trouble of finding a fence," Steed mused. "The Ministry's going to pay. They said they couldn't afford the international incident." 

"That money will be going straight into the hands of the baddies," Emma said. "I guess my fan club is in danger of disbanding." 

"The thieves have requested that the exchange take place at the dog show this weekend." 

"What?" 

"They wanted a public place so there would be no 'funny business.'" 

"No funny business?" she snorted. "They'll probably have the place swarming with Battle Corgis. Command-and-control dogs as well." 

Steed shrugged. "Do you know anything about dog shows?" 

"Technically, it's a conformation show." 

"So that's a yes. Do you know anything about English Setters?" 

"English Setter... Originally known as a setting spaniel, but later changed to setter. First bred by Edward Laverack in the mid-1800's. He wrote a book called _The Setter_ that is the definitive guide on the breed. The modern show-type of English Setter is frequently referred to as the Laverack-type." 

Steed grinned. "I would call you a smarty-pants, but you're not wearing any." He continued to rub her bare thigh. "The Ministry's arranged for you to have a show dog. An English Setter." 

"I guess that'll have to do," Emma said. "The one time that terror of a terrier could help us out, and he's defected to the other side." 

"Not necessarily. Maybe Spumi's just _pretending_ like they're controlling him. He could be working undercover, like you did at Canary Roe." 

"You give him too much credit. He's just a dog." 

"He did get away with a priceless emerald," Steed teased. 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Fortunately for you, I've handled dogs at a conformation show before." 

"Ah, yes; but do you know how to strut?" 

Emma rose from the couch. This time her leg was more stable. She paced slowly from one end of the room to the other in the turtleneck minidress, then spun on her heel and returned. Her stride was regal, commanding. 

Steed gave her a crooked smile. "Your pedigree is showing." 

"Oh?" She flirtatiously put her hand on her hip. 

"I'd vote you Best in Show," he declared. "Looks like your leg is back in working order." 

Emma walked over to the liquor cart and picked up the glowing green vial of ThinkFast neuroaccelerator she had brought back from Brindleshire. 

"Do you think the baddies will have Spumi there?" she asked. 

"It's entirely possible. Why?" 

"We should take this drug with us." 

"I thought you didn't believe in that," Steed said. 

"I'm thinking about that circlet Spumante had around his head," Emma pondered. "Do you suppose it could be some type of neural interface? It would eliminate the need for thousands of hours of training. You could even command a dog to react to events right as they happen." 

"An interesting theory." 

"That's where _this_ comes in," she continued, shaking the bottle of neuroaccelerator. "It might change Spumante's brain patterns enough to make it impossible to synchronize, breaking their control over him." 

"Elementary, but how do you get him to take it?" 

"Dr. Cephalus said it was addictive. Spumi will feel a compulsion to drink it, even if he's ordered not to." 

Emma leaned on her elbows against the liquor cart, lost in thought. She was unaware that bending over this way had caused the turtleneck sweater to ride up on her legs, exposing her lingerie. Steed stared wide-eyed. White nylon, just as he has suspected. She suddenly sensed his attention and followed his gaze below her waist. 

"I think I've fully recovered," she said wryly. 

The last thing he saw was Emma's smirk as she re-tied the scarf over his eyes. Then he had to sit there and listen to the achingly provocative sound of her slipping back into her leathers and fastening the zipper. 

-oOo-


	4. Divide And Conquer

**Chapter 4**

Steed strolled through the back corridors of the arena, trying to look inconspicuous. This was difficult to do while carrying a briefcase filled with nearly half a million pounds in bank notes. He had draped his umbrella awkwardly over his wrist to hide the handcuff. There was no way he was letting the case out of his possession until the ransom was paid. 

The hallways were filled with trainers walking their dogs. He followed the stream of canines towards a large staging area where dozens of tables had been set up for the grooming and preparation of the contestants. To the untrained eye, all of the dogs looked identical. Steed finally found the section with English Setters in the Gundog Group. 

His eye must have been untrained. All of these dogs looked identical. 

Fortunately, his partner's hair color was unique, and he quickly spotted her auburn splash amid the chaos. Steed paled as he saw Mrs. Peel going after the top show dog in England with a pair of electric clippers. 

He pulled up close and spoke urgently under his voice. "Soames is a favorite to win Crufts this year. We don't need you accidentally giving him a crew cut." 

"Whoops!" Emma faked a wide swath with the clippers. "Mohawk!" 

"Mrs. Peel!" 

"Maybe if I just keep my hand on his head, the judges won't notice." 

Steed pulled her hand away and breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. She smirked back at him. 

"I know what I'm doing," she chided. "It turns out that the owner is an old family friend who has a financial interest in Knight Industries." 

"Ah. You have connections everywhere." 

"Except with any underworld fences who might be interested in the Beryl of Munkiz," Emma said as she brushed the dog's coat. "If we could intercept the emerald before it hit the black market, we could save the ransom money." 

"Fortunately for us, the Ambassador from Munkiz was satisfied to leave the recovery of the gem in our hands. When he heard how valiantly you fought to protect the emerald, he was more concerned that you might be injured." 

"While that's admirable of him," Emma said, "I'm still not getting within hand's reach of our flirtatious diplomat, if you know what I mean." 

"I do indeed. One international incident is enough." 

"So if the recovery is up to us, has the Ministry sent along some help?" 

Steed nodded. "We have agents stationed throughout the arena. They've been checking all the Corgis in the show. So far, no mechanoids." 

Emma frowned. "The Battle Corgis don't have to be registered participants. They could be blending in, or," she reminded him pointedly, "hiding in the ductwork." 

"Using a dog show for the ransom drop does seem suspicious," he agreed. 

"Maybe they're playing this straight, just to get the money." 

"With poor Brodny as the front, the KGB must be involved," Steed mused. "That means twists and turns." 

Emma nodded. "You have the ransom?" 

He showed her the briefcase and handcuff. "Inseparable. You still have the smart drug?" 

She pulled the vial of glowing green absinthe-like liquid from her skirt pocket. "Ready to dose that troublesome terrier." 

Steed smiled as he drifted back into the crowd. 

"Keep your eyes peeled for Asti Spumante." 

-oOo-

"I've already helped you obtain the emerald!" Brodny whined. "What more do you need?" 

The Handler slowly paced from side to side in the small utility room at the arena. "Yes, you did an excellent job. Your camera placement was perfect. Our control of the untrained terrier was flawless. It proves that the technology works." The Handler gripped the armrests of Brodny's chair, trapping him. "You've done an excellent job so far, Ambassador." 

"S-so far? There is more?" 

"Now you must help us get the ransom." 

"Why me? Just give them the emerald, and take the money." 

The Handler snickered evilly. "That scheme only works if we still have the emerald." 

"What do you mean?" 

"We're not going to _exchange_ for the ransom, we're going to _take_ the ransom." 

Brodny moaned with dread, "You have lost the gem?" 

"Don't be ridiculous. We've _sold_ it." 

"But you asked for ransom—" 

"In addition to needing funds for future development, we had some past-due expenses to cover as well. A full shipment of miniaturized electronics was being held up by the manufacturer, awaiting payment. With the money we got by fencing the emerald, we were able to complete several dozen prototype collars, with cash to spare." 

Brodny slipped free of the chair and made a move towards the door, but the muscular blond Helmut barred the way. 

"Your task is simple, Ambassador," said the Handler. "Just identify the Ministry agents transporting the ransom, and we'll steal it. By the time they realize it's a double-cross, we'll have set our plan into motion and can easily make our escape." 

"But I can't overpower agents from the Ministry!" Brodny protested. 

"That's why Helmut has brought in extra help." The Handler indicated a second man who had been standing quietly in the corner of the room. "This is Gunther." 

He could have been Helmut's twin. He had a similar athletic build, the same light blond hair. 

Gunther smiled. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of those Ministry agents." 

-oOo-

Emma tiptoed quietly up next to Steed, moving with catlike stealth. She touched him lightly on the shoulder. He whirled around and his eyes widened in alarm. 

"Where's Soames?" 

"The owner's making some final checks," Emma said casually. "You're a little jumpy. Why so nervous?" 

Steed wrinkled his mouth. "I'm carrying more money than most financial institutions. Forty stacks of one-hundred hundred-pound notes." 

She teasingly slipped her arm around his waist. "Have you ever thought of investing in the industrial sector?" 

Steed grinned as he hoisted the briefcase. "I would trust my life savings with you, but this belongs to the Queen." 

"So why are you loitering here?" she asked. 

He pointed to an electric switch on the wall of the service corridor. "Watch this." As he pressed the button, a heavy steel door slid open in front of them. 

"There are a number of utility rooms separated from the main arena by these automatic fire doors," he explained. 

Emma examined the hallway. "Looks like a good place for the baddies to set up shop." 

"You mentioned Corgis in the air ducts; I thought we might find a few 'rats' back here among the pumps and circuitbreakers." 

"If by 'rat' you mean Ambassador Brodny," she said, "I agree." 

Steed nodded. "I've checked this side of the hall already." 

A light brown nose peeked around the corner. They both saw it at the same time. 

"Ah, there he is!" Steed said cheerily. "Our brainwashed bone-burier has made his appearance." 

Emma rifled her pockets for the drug. The terrier started barking. 

"He might be alerting someone to our position," Steed said in a low voice. "Quick, give Spumi some of the fluid." 

She finally found the vial containing the neuroaccelerator. She crouched down and slowly approached the dog. 

"Quiet, you little fink!" Emma said in a hushed whisper. "You're giving us away!" 

-oOo-

Helmut and Gunther had flanked Brodny on either side to make sure he didn't bolt for the exit. The Ambassador was walking Spumante on a long leash. 

"We've spotted several agents so far," Helmut said. 

"Yes, but none of them would be trusted with that much money," Brodny explained. "Only the most capable of operatives would be sent on a mission this delicate." He gave the leash several extra feet of play. "Fortunately, this dog is a favorite pet at the Ministry. He should recognize most of their agents." 

The terrier ranged on ahead, sniffing at each corridor. He poked his head around a corner and started barking. 

"The dog has found something," Gunther said. 

Brodny crept forward and peeked around the corner. "It's John Steed! And he has a briefcase—it must be the ransom!" He flattened back against the wall as Helmut and Gunther pushed ahead for a look. 

"An old man and a woman?" Helmut snorted. "That hardly seems like enough protection for that much money." 

"I'm sure it is them," Brodny said nervously. 

Helmut pulled out a gun. "Then we'll act now." 

"But the Handler told us to alert him when we find who has the ransom," Brodny stammered. "That way, he can start his plan." 

"If it's just those two, we don't need a plan," Helmut said. "We knock them out and take the briefcase. No caution necessary." 

Gunther frowned. "Did you see who that was next to Steed? That's Emma Peel. I've watched her at a dojo before. She's got karate and judo combos that'll floor you for ten minutes or more." 

Helmut smirked, "She's only a woman. And I'm armed." He held the barrel of the weapon vertical and peeked back around the corner. The auburn-haired beauty had pulled out a vial of green liquid and was approaching the dog. 

"Look, she's trying to drug the terrier. No time to wait for the Handler," Helmut said excitedly. "Let's go!" 

He turned the corner and charged at the Ministry agents, with Gunther and the dog following in his wake. The Ambassador, as expected, took off in the opposite direction, away from the confrontation. 

Helmut smiled to himself as he reached the Peel woman first. A karate expert, according to Gunther. Combos that would floor him for ten minutes. He aimed a kick at the glass container with its glowing green liquid; the woman snatched it back to safety in the nick of time. Meanwhile, Gunther was assaulting the well-dressed man holding the ransom case. The terrier had jumped onto a pile of crates and used them as stairsteps to crawl up onto the wall. What was the animal doing? 

The dog stood on his hind legs and pawed the button. The electric fire door immediately started to close, separating Helmut and the woman from the others. That was strange. The terrier hadn't been trained to do anything like that. Maybe the dog thought that pressing the button would bring a pack of Corgi mechanoids to his aid, just like the caper earlier this week. Nevertheless, locking the woman in with him wasn't a bad idea; Gunther should have no problem with the old man, and even if he did, the female agent would still be a hostage. 

This woman that Gunther had called 'Emma' tossed the vial through the rapidly closing door with inches to spare. The man that Brodny had called 'Steed' must not have been expecting it; there was the sound of breaking glass. The terrier had already retreated to that side, so Helmut was now completely isolated with the so-called martial arts expert. It suited him just fine. 

He leveled his gun. The woman was dressed in a conservative mid-length wool skirt and a white silk blouse. She gave him a sweet smile, completely non-threatening. He had a least a seven-stone advantage on her. 

With a ferocity that contradicted her innocence, she lunged at him, temporarily getting past the gun barrel to rain a flurry of strikes with the edge of her hand. The woman clearly had spirit. She savagely chopped the side of his neck in an attempt to render him groggy from diminished blood flow to the brain. Not bad. Then she drove a savage fist just below his breastbone, knocking the air out of his lungs and causing a tingling numbness. Could she have hit his solar plexus with just one punch? 

Helmut smirked. She'd had her fun. Now it was his turn. He charged across the corridor and slammed her into the wall with his shoulder; this brought a delightful squeak from deep in her throat. She was still feisty, though, grabbing his wrist, trying to get the gun away. She wasn't strong enough to wrench the weapon free, but she did manage to trip him and use a judo toss to send him head-first into the wall. 

His skull caught a glancing blow against the stonework, and he almost lost his balance. At least he had retained hold of the gun; he could still spin around and fire a warning shot. _That_ would make this Peel woman cower, soon enough. 

He wasn't expecting an attack now that she was behind him, when he suddenly felt her hands gripping his shoulders. Before he could react, she snapped her knee sharply upwards between his legs, delivering a stunning surge into his lower abdomen. He gasped and clamped his thighs together, but it was too late. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to drop the gun sooner. 

The woman wasn't taking any chances; she expertly stabbed her rigid knuckles into the small of his back, targeting another nerve center. The auburn-haired spitfire had actually managed to stagger him. She kicked wickedly at the side of his ankle, causing him to drop to one knee to maintain stability. This movement had exposed the back of his neck; she stiffened the heel of her palm and drove it into his nape. 

The combined effect of her paralyzing strikes had made it impossible for him to get back to his feet, but just in case, the Peel woman firmly pressed her toe just below his ear, trapping his head against the wall. A 'sleeper pinch.' Stars swam before his eyes. Helmut slid helplessly to the floor, the gun falling from limp fingers. She scooped up the weapon with a swish of her reddish hair. 

The woman that Gunther had called 'Emma Peel' stood over him with one hand holding the gun and the other on her hip as she admired her handiwork. Helmut rolled over with a groan, cursing himself for underestimating her. The pantheress had struck swiftly and without hesitation at all of his vulnerable points, leaving him unable to launch a counterattack. A wise strategy, since he would have overpowered her in seconds if he had been allowed to use his strength. He wanted to compliment her on her skill, but he could still barely speak due to her vigorous groin strike. 

Ten minutes, did Gunther say...? 

-oOo-

The electric fire door slid to one side. John Steed was framed in the opening. 

"Mrs. Peel!" 

His look of concern melted away when he saw Emma with her arms folded matter-of-factly, the enemy's gun in one hand. Steed gave her a warm smile as he poked the man curled up on the floor with the tip of his umbrella. "You certainly are efficient today." 

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall," she boasted. "Besides, I took it easy on him. See? He can still move his feet." The attacker was kicking fitfully at the air in discomfort. 

"Could just be an involuntary twitch," Steed teased. 

"I don't like having guns pointed at me," she said curtly as she removed the clip and tossed the empty weapon aside. "Besides, this is personal. They're trying to use my own dog against me." 

Steed grinned. "So you admit it, then? That Spumante's your dog?" 

Emma reddened. "I mean, I've trained him. People have seen me walking him on the streets of London. How does it look if he's running around committing crimes, stealing treasures from Arabian dignitaries? I have a reputation to uphold." She looked through the open door and saw Gunther motionless on the ground. 

"How'd you take care of yours?" she asked. 

He showed her the dent in the briefcase. "Rather effective. Perhaps I should always keep a heavy object chained to my wrist." 

"So what was this? A double-cross?" Emma puzzled. "An attempt to steal the money?" 

"I suppose so. Somehow, I think the plan is bigger than just these two. At least we were able to give them their just deserts." 

Emma frowned. "No thanks to that traitorous terrier." 

"What do you mean?" Steed countered. "Spumi was helping us." 

"No, he wasn't. Haven't you ever heard of divide and conquer? He purposely separated us to make it easier for the villains." 

"But that works both ways," Steed said. "Spumi's seen us fight before. He probably thought we stood a better chance one-on-one, and he locked the gun in with you, because you're so effective against that sort of thing." 

The man on the floor clutched his groin and let out a moan of agreement. 

Steed pointed to the prone figure. "What about him?" 

"I'm no expert," she smirked, "but I would estimate he'll be walking again in ten minutes." 

"Then we'd better tie him up while he's still feeling your effects," Steed said wryly. "And the one I conked outside." 

Emma followed him through the fire door. The terrier was gone. She noticed the broken vial with its glowing green contents spilled on the floor. 

"Did Spumi drink any of this?" she asked. 

"I'm not sure. He was definitely over here by the puddle." 

"You didn't notice?" 

"Sorry, but I was being threatened by an Eastern Bloc thug at the time. My attention was divided." 

She sighed. "I would recommend we question these two about what's going on here, but the Gundog Group goes on right after the Terriers. I need to get back to Soames." 

Steed nodded. "I'll look for Brodny. A little subtle coercion and I'm sure he'll let something slip. I'm betting he knows more than the hired muscle, anyway." 

Emma had ducked into a utility room and returned with a fistful of leather leashes. 

"That's one advantage to taking on the baddies at a dog show," she grinned. "You don't have to search around for anything to tie them up." 

-oOo-

The prize English Setter stood stock-still, flawless, on a table in the staging area. An auburn-headed woman had returned to tend him. To the casual observer, it was the same woman who had been working with the dog before; her hair was certainly the same color. The only difference was that this woman was decidedly more buxom, almost voluptuous. 

She removed the setter's collar and slipped on a nearly-identical replacement, then smiled to herself. 

"Now her dog is under _our_ control," she said smugly. "Just like every other dog here." 

-oOo-


	5. Canine Control

**Chapter 5**

Steed hid behind a large support beam, scanning the crowd from a distance. The arena was filled with dog-lovers, many of them no doubt there to see the prize English Setter, Silbury Soames. But he suspected that even more of them were interested in seeing the dog's guest handler, the young woman who headed up Knight Industries, the enigmatic Emma Peel. Her pedigree was certainly above reproach, just like the much-decorated canine at the end of her leash. 

There was no sign of Ambassador Brodny. He had probably vacated the premises the instant the KGB muscle had been subdued by Mrs. Peel. The plot that was being hatched here remained a mystery. 

Steed watched Emma from the wings as she carefully walked the English Setter to keep him fresh in anticipation of the Gundog Group. The feisty terriers were on now, strutting around the ring. Steed took the opportunity to admire Mrs. Peel while she was unaware of his presence—her excellent posture, her regal bearing, her dignified air. Hard to believe that she had just roughed up an East German thug. Steed edged up behind her and put his lips close to her ear. 

"You two look magnificent." 

Emma blushed, but kept facing forward. Soames remained calm, motionless. 

"This is how a dog is supposed to behave," she said smugly. "Not at all like Spumante." 

"Any sign of our furry friend?" 

She shook her head. "Do you think the baddies may have entered Spumi in the show?" 

"Why not? He's purebred. If they had a talent category, I'm sure he'd win the acrobatics competition. Ever seen him fly?" 

"Yes, when he started this whole crisis. I tossed a mechanical Corgi at him." 

They both stood silently watching the dogs in the ring. Emma let out a restrained gasp as she saw a wire-haired fox terrier leave the line and head for the judge's table. 

"Ah!" Steed smiled. "There's our little burrowing Benedict Arnold now." 

"Benedict Arnold was on our side, remember?" Emma said wryly. 

"Just like I suspect Spumante is," he parried. "Who's that walking him?" 

At the other end of his leash was a big-chested woman, an outrageous figure in a cream silk blouse and a black leather skirt that clung to her hips like it was painted on. She wore spiked stiletto heels and dark sunglasses; her nipples stood up through her thin top like ballistic missiles. Her hair color was identical to Mrs. Peel's. 

Emma nearly choked in surprise and anger. " _Leov!_ " 

"I'd recognize those heels anywhere," Steed murmured. 

"I thought she was in prison!" 

Steed shifted uncomfortably. "The Ministry has been known to release certain prisoners in hopes to catch the big fish, so to speak. Perhaps they think she'll lead them to the Ladja." 

Emma's eyes blazed with fire at the mention of her KGB nemesis. "Ordinarily, I'd disapprove; but if it's to catch _that_ man..." 

"She was his lover, after all," Steed said. "If the Ladja survived the fall from the train, he's sure to try to contact her. The Ministry will have her under constant surveillance." 

"Didn't they notice her little foray into pet weapons?" 

"Spumante's not a weapon," Steed teased. "He could barely nibble an ankle." 

"They're using him as a command-and-control sabotage dog. Almost as bad." 

"But he's been helping us from the very beginning. He brought the bad guys to us, so we didn't have to waste time searching for them. He knew we could defeat them." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "So you say." She lightly stroked Soames. "I was hoping that if Spumi drank some of the smart drug, it would break their control over him. But he isn't even wearing the metal circlet on his head anymore. If he's not a traitor, why isn't he fleeing Leov?" 

"All part of his plan?" Steed ventured. "Or maybe they're controlling him with a different mechanism." 

"The only thing Spumi's wearing is a collar," Emma observed. "It looks the same as every other dog's, mine included. Nothing special about it." 

Steed scanned the outside of the show ring. Several parabolic dishes were set up around its border; he supposed they were microphones trying to overhear the judge's comments. 

"An awful lot of news coverage for a mere qualifying show," he mused. 

The loudspeaker announced the Gundog Group. 

"I'm on now," Emma said. "You get on Leov's tail." 

Steed arched his eyebrows at her, and she added with a smirk, "Metaphorically speaking." 

-oOo-

The Handler sat a few rows back in the arena, stationed behind a desk that contained a large electronic panel resembling an audio control board. Cables spilled from the back, running to all of the parabolic dishes stationed around the ring. It looked like the perfect gear for someone broadcasting the event. 

"Where are those two idiots?" he snorted to himself. "They should have returned by now." 

There was still no sign of Helmut and Gunther. Without their information on who the Ministry ransom courier was, there would be no point in activating the dogs. And to make matters worse, the KGB was now taking a personal interest in the events here, in the form of the big-breasted redhead Ursula Leov, the assistant of the once highly-placed double agent known as "The Ladja." 

Even now, she strolled over with the mind-controlled terrier on the end of a leash. The Handler quickly offered her the chair next to him at the electronics station. Leov sat down and crossed her legs, briefly flashing red silk panties under her leather skirt. Then she bent low to attach the dog's lead to her chair leg, revealing an impressive expanse of cleavage. Quite the siren, the Handler thought. 

"Glad to have you around, Comrade Leov," he began. "Though I'm not sure why the KGB sent you to look in on things." 

She smiled coolly. "Let's just say that The Ladja and I have a vested interest in what's happening here." 

The Handler faked a smile in return. The Ladja and Leov's stock had fallen in the past few months; one of their plans had gone south, resulting in the loss of a top secret decoding machine. Still, the couple was rumored to be highly connected with none other than Gogol, the head of the KGB himself. 

"Since Ambassador Brodny seems to have deserted us," the Handler said amiably, "perhaps you'd like to see how our control system works." He donned what appeared to be an ordinary communications headset and plugged it into the board. "Every dog in this arena is now under my control, thanks to their collars." 

"I suspected as much when you had me put them on the animals in the staging area," Leov remarked. "But why were the collars numbered?" 

"Each dog has a different frequency," the Handler explained. "I can give commands to an individual animal, or to the pack as a whole." 

An evil smile crossed Leov's face. "In that case, perhaps you could demonstrate on dog number 47." 

"Any reason?" he asked. "Or just chosen at random?" 

Leov pointed towards the ring where the Gundog Group was already under way. 

" _That woman_ ," she sneered, "with the English Setter. She's Emma Peel, the one who put me in prison. During my few months there, I often dreamed about subjugating her and making her service my needs." 

The Handler raised an eyebrow. "Then by all means, let us humiliate her." He adjusted the knobs on the electronics board and waited until Emma had stepped forward. As soon as she approached the judge's table, the Handler squinted his eyes in concentration and the English Setter came to a dead stop. 

"Come on, Soames," Emma coaxed. The dog refused to move, even as she tugged more urgently on the leash. Suddenly, he bolted in the opposite direction, nearly dragging her behind. A titter ran through the audience as Emma turned red with embarrassment. 

"The Captain of Knight Industries," Leov snickered, "and she can't even manage a mongrel." 

The Handler grinned. "Let's see if he'll bite the hand that feeds him." He twisted a dial and focused his attention on the show ring. 

The English Setter turned and snapped at Emma's wrist. Only her lightning reflexes prevented the dog from making contact. She looked mortified as she scanned the audience. Fortunately for her, the judge and most of the spectators had missed the transgression. 

"Amazing!" Leov commented. 

"Now you understand how we can just walk out of here with the ransom," the Handler said smugly. "It'll be the world's largest diversion. No matter how many Ministry agents they brought to the exchange, they'll all be occupied once the show dogs run amuck. Then we take the money and run, with the pack running interference behind us. When we get to the dock area, we remove the dogs' collars and everyone is left to wonder what happened. Meanwhile, we'll be four hundred thousand pounds richer." 

_Even Moscow will have to take notice when news of the event reaches them,_ he smirked to himself. _Then my work will finally get the respect it deserves..._

-oOo-

Steed watched in dismay as Mrs. Peel struggled to control the English Setter. Her manner had been so confident, the dog so calm; what had happened? 

A snicker of devilish laughter reached his ears. Steed poked his head out from behind the support beam and saw that Ursula Leov had taken a seat next to the technician behind the sound board. The man was wearing an elaborate headset—maybe more than would be needed to simply broadcast an event. Steed's gaze swung from the technician back to Emma in show ring. Leov continued to giggle at the dog's misbehavior. 

Steed pondered the parabolic dishes set up around the perimeter. What if they weren't microphones? Could the technician be using his device to somehow control Soames? The English Setter wasn't wearing any special apparatus like Spumante had been at the Embassy, only a collar and leash. 

Mrs. Peel was a proud woman. She would be furious if she found out her big debut had been spoiled by KGB flunkies. It was his duty to defend her honor. He made a split-second decision and sprinted out through the arena doors with the audience's laughter at Mrs. Peel's expense echoing in his ears. 

Once out on the street, he spotted a pub across the way. He barged through the doors and set his briefcase on the counter. 

"I need twelve pints, that tray, and your apron," he announced. 

The bartender folded his arms. "Oh, you do, do you?" 

Steed smiled broadly as he unlocked the handcuff to open the case and pulled out a single bank note. 

"Will one hundred pounds be enough?" 

-oOo-

In the end, Steed was forced to part with an extra hundred-pound note to acquire the pub gear. At least the bartender had thrown in an official-looking hat. Steed had quickly made it back to the staging area in the arena, where he set to work on the handle of his umbrella. Fortunately, he had removed the miniature camera earlier and replaced it with the compartment that held two chloral hydrate pills. He dropped one each in the two pints at the far end of the tray. 

Rummaging around the tables, he found the blackest clippings he could find—from some water dog, he suspected. Steed picked up a thick tuft of fur and attached it to his upper lip with some gum. The curly black moustache in a narrow strip under his nose made him look like a weird Italian Hitler. Would it be enough to fool Leov? 

Steed donned the apron and replaced his bowler with the pub hat. Then he arranged the twelve pints on the tray and used the briefcase handcuffed to his wrist as a flat surface to carry it at chest level. Since the ransom still contained four hundred thousand pounds minus two hundred, he couldn't afford to let it out of his sight. 

The knock-out drops might take a minute or two to work, so he had to get the technician and Leov to drink them as soon as possible. He strolled out into the arena and down the aisle where the electronic sound board was located. 

"Get your beer!" Steed shouted. "Fine ale!" 

Several people raised their hands, apparently having no qualms about buying beer from someone who looked like Hitler. Perhaps they thought it meant fine German brew. Or perhaps they were pleasantly surprised to see alcohol served at a dog show. In any event, he had to be careful not to oversell; he still needed the two drugged pints for his targets. Steed overheard the technician talking excitedly to Leov. 

"...All in perfect synchronization. It could work on any animal, even cats..." 

"Ale, sir?" Steed asked politely as he poked his head in to interrupt. 

The Handler perked up. "You can have beer at a dog show?" 

"Wouldn't be a proper one without it, as far as I'm concerned," Steed answered with a smile, an action which almost made the phony moustache drop off. He handed the technician one of the tampered drinks. 

"Here you go." 

"Wait just a second, capitalist," Leov said sternly. 

Steed's heart stopped. _Had his disguise been penetrated?_

"I will have one as well," she said. 

"Of course," he grinned. 

-oOo-

An unmarked van was parked outside a secret government research lab on the Thames waterfront. Alarm klaxons blared as the patter of paws sounded on the asphalt. 

"Get in here, Zeus!" 

Pyotr Pehlovich urged the German Shepherd to more speed as he waited in the open door. The man known as "Peter Peel" in England, and "The Ladja" behind the Iron Curtain, was not a professional dog handler; but the command-and-control animal was smart enough to lead the attack on his own. 

A dozen mechanical Corgis were escorting Zeus, laying down billowing clouds of anesthesia gas should any security guards try to follow. But this was hardly necessary; the installation been caught by surprise, and the dog pack had easily made off with their objective. Even now, Pehlovich could see the glass vial loosely clamped in the German Shepherd's muzzle. 

The dog arrived at the van and deposited his treasure into The Ladja's palm. The evil mastermind held the bottle up in the moonlight to verify the writing on the label. Then he gave Zeus a warm pat on the head. 

"Good doggie." 

-oOo-


	6. Best In Show

**Chapter 6**

Emma strode back into line with all of the dignity she could muster. The dog had returned to normal; whatever strange possession had gripped the English Setter had passed as quickly as it came. Fortunately for her, the judges already knew the dog by sight, were familiar with the perfection of his conformation, and hadn't even been paying attention when he misbehaved. Soames seemed a lock to win the Gundog Group. 

She clinched her fists in barely-contained fury at the snickering of Mistress Leov. The big-chested hussy with the hair obscenely dyed the same color as hers was tossing back a beer. Emma wrinkled her mouth. When did they start serving alcohol at dog shows? 

Somehow, she knew that Leov was responsible for the fiasco. Could the man sitting next to her with the electronic gear be controlling Soames? How was such a thing possible without any hardware on the dog's head? Could they have done the same thing to Spumante? 

The judges were about to announce the winner. Emma stood at attention and her dog followed suit. 

-oOo-

The Handler sipped his beer and furrowed his brow. 

"Is something the matter?" Leov asked. 

"My two underlings, Helmut and Gunther," he said. "They were supposed to find out who has the ransom money. Without knowing that, it's pointless for me to start a riot." 

Leov took a gulp of her drink. "That Emma Peel... the last time I met her, she was trying to disrupt a KGB operation." 

The Handler perked to attention. "She works for the Ministry?" 

"Not as an employee, but she helps out their top troubleshooter, a man named John Steed. It's possible that he's here tonight," she said cattily. "He might even be the one carrying the ransom." 

"Any chance you could describe him to me?" 

"There's no need," Leov grinned. "If you want to flush Steed out, put Mrs. Peel in danger. He won't stand idly by when she's threatened." 

The Handler nodded. "It looks like we have no choice but to force the Ministry's hand. Good idea, _tovarisch_." His hands danced over the electronics board, sliding several controls up to their maximum extent. 

"Now—see what Ultimate Canine Control can do!" 

A look of intense concentration distorted his features as he focused on a single command: _Attack!_

-oOo-

Steed breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Mistress Leov and the technician sip the drugged beer. It shouldn't take long now. He would rush the electronics board the minute they lost consciousness. He stripped off the fake moustache and apron just as a murmur went through the crowd. Something unusual was happening in the show ring. 

Every single dog on the floor had turned in eerie synchronization to stare at Emma. There was no denying it; they were all looking straight at her. She wore an expression of innocence as she pointed to herself. _Me?_

A low rumbling could be heard in the throats of some of the larger retrievers. Several of the pointers erupted in outright growls. In a single motion, every gundog was straining at its leash, each one a guided missile aimed straight at Emma. They broke free in a torrent, their handlers too surprised to keep their grip as the dogs charged across the floor. 

Steed gasped and stepped out from hiding, but he was a good hundred yards away; he would never reach Mrs. Peel before the pack did. 

A small terrier leaped from the front row and rushed into the ring. Steed smiled. Spumante had managed to chew through the leather leash that tethered him to the chair. He ran in front of Emma to bar the way—only 15 pounds of bite, but at least 40 pounds of bark—interposing himself in front of the wave of snarling dogs. 

The pack hesitated, uncertain of this new development. Spumante circled Emma in a barking frenzy, trying to keep the larger dogs at bay. 

-oOo-

"That blasted terrier!" Leov reached down to the chair leg and pulled up the frayed end of the leash. "Why isn't the control working on him?" 

"It doesn't matter," the Handler smirked. "Watch this." He redoubled his concentration and the pack started to advance again on Emma. 

Leov rose to her feet. "I'll get that traitorous dog." As she turned toward the aisle, she wobbled and lost her balance. 

"I'm feeling... dizzy," she stammered. "I need some water." She glanced sideways and noticed the Handler's lids were also fluttering. Just past him, she saw a man peeking out from behind a column. The stranger no longer had a moustache or apron, but he still wore the hat with a pub's logo on it. The beer vendor? 

Leov frowned in a flash of recognition. Steed! He must have drugged the ale. She had to get out of this trap, quickly. If she were caught here, it would be a one-way ticket back to prison. 

Leov staggered down the aisle toward the rear of the arena. Her vision was already starting to dim as she stumbled toward the exit doors. A van should be waiting for her in the alley. She must have been hallucinating from the drug—she saw a line of Corgis escorting her, protecting her escape. 

-oOo-

Steed was already moving as the Handler slumped forward. Leov had fled the scene, making one less person to get in his way. There was no time to waste—Spumante couldn't hold off the threatening dogs forever. With their controller unconscious, the pack would probably not stop until they had carried out the last command they had been given—to attack Mrs. Peel! 

He pushed the sagging man aside and grabbed the headset. Could it have something to do with controlling the dogs? Steed put it on his head and started twiddling the knobs on the audio board. He focused his attention on the charging animals. 

"Stop!" he said aloud, even though he suspected verbalization wasn't necessary. "Turn around!" 

To his amazement, the entire group of dogs halted in their tracks and started spinning as if chasing their tails. The rotation was perfectly synchronized, like some intricate dog ballet. The crowd erupted in laughter, perhaps thinking the canine choreography was part of the show. 

Mrs. Peel had heard his voice as well. She turned to see him seated behind the electronics desk. He saw a look of understanding cross her face; she must have figured out what was going on, what the apparatus he was wearing signified. 

Now, he just had to calm the dogs. The headset made it feel like the whole pack was wired directly into his brain. Would his verbal command be enough to neutralize their attack? Steed was afraid to let his mind wander, lest the dogs resume their assault. He tried to channel his feelings for Emma. 

_This woman is not an enemy. She is a friend. A dear friend!_

His mantra seemed to be working. Mrs. Peel would be safe. She smiled at him and he returned the smile warmly. His eyes wandered from the now-docile English Setter up to firm hold she had on the leash. Mrs. Peel was dressed in a wool skirt that stopped just short of the knee and a tight cotton blouse. The fabric was translucent enough to reveal a lacy bra. She could make anything look sexy. 

Suddenly, his mind was filled with a flood of images from the past week. Tangerine silk lingerie. The clingy leather bodysuit. White nylon panties. Without warning, a group of dogs broke from the pack and sprinted for her, tongues and tails wagging. Spumante was confused by their lack of hostility and reacted far too late to stop the onrush. 

Emma retreated towards Steed's position at the electronics board and shouted over to him, "Are you controlling these?" 

"I was trying to convince them not to hurt you! They must be sensing my... natural affection." 

Steed watched in alarm. His naughty daydreams had finally gone too far. Mrs. Peel had adopted a "duck and cover" defense against the surge of dogs, but she was still in danger of being smothered by kisses. Tongues were lapping her everywhere—her face, her arms, her exposed legs. The audience gave a collective chuckle, relieved that what had first appeared to be a vicious attack had turned into a lovefest. 

Steed gasped in panic as he saw a wet nose investigating the hem of Mrs. Peel's skirt, seeking out the warmth of her thighs. 

_Clean thoughts, clean thoughts..._

"Steed!" Emma called out urgently as she tugged her clothing tighter. "I'm being licked!" 

"Don't throw in the towel yet, Mrs. Peel!" 

He desperately spun the knobs on the control board, adjusting the gain and power output. Nothing seemed to have any effect. Sensations were feeding back into his brain. Was that normal? He swore he could feel his tongue on Emma's smooth skin, smell her scent. How could he suppress his desires? 

_Calm down! Think of the Queen!_

Suddenly, all of the dogs retreated and formed a line. They stood there motionless, shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed forward like Palace Attendants. Steed exhaled slowly. A hush fell over the crowd as Emma regained her feet and adjusted her skirt. She strode regally in front of the canine honor guard. The audience applauded politely at her apparent triumph over the dogs. 

Steed winced as she approached the control table. Her debut had been a memorable one. Would she ever forgive him? 

Emma folded her arms and fixed him with a stare. 

He gave her a sheepish grin. "I'm always at attention for you, Mrs. Peel." 

-oOo-

Steed entered his apartment and tossed his bowler onto the hatrack. Emma was reclining on the sofa with the terrier Asti Spumante curled at her feet. 

"We've recovered the emerald," Steed began cheerily. "The technician calling himself 'The Handler' wouldn't talk, but Helmut did. He lead us to the fence." 

Emma raised her head. "Helmut? Who's that?" 

"The henchman you so brilliantly subjugated. It seems he was completely lovestruck after his defeat at your hands." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Do men really enjoy being humiliated?" 

Steed grinned. "Would you believe there's something inherently attractive about the way you put men in their place?" 

She shook her head. "I'll never understand the male psyche." 

"At least the Armourer is happy," he continued. "We collected all the experimental canine control equipment. Turns out the secret was in the collars." 

"I suspected as much when I was at the bottom of a dogpile," Emma smirked. "Thanks to your feckless control, I was thoroughly embarrassed in front of my shareholders." 

"Really?" he said, feigning innocence. "I thought the situation was rather frivolous and playful..." 

He sat on the Regency next to her and began massaging her shoulders. 

"Crufts is in March," he teased. "Spumante could be ready." 

Emma purred a little from his attentions. "My conformation show quota has been met for this year." She ruffled the terrier's fur. "So with the ransom safe and the Beryl of Munkiz returned, there's only one question left: What about Mistress Leov?" 

Steed stumbled, "Er—she managed to escape." 

"That was rather careless of her minders." 

"It seems Leov had the help of some Corgis," he explained. 

"I'm sure she'll surface again," Emma said firmly. "And when she does, I'll bet that The Ladja will be pulling her strings." 

-oOo-

Peter Peel tugged the lace on the thin silk bodice, causing it to fall open. Two pendulous breasts spilled out with a bounce. He nuzzled them eagerly as the woman with the reddish-auburn hair twitched with pleasure. She reclined on the sofa and pulled him closer. 

"That bratty terrier double-crossed us, my Ladja," Leov panted. "Steed now has possession of the gem." 

"The dog fulfilled his purpose," Peel said smoothly. "He stole the emerald, then led everyone on a wild goose chase. And you kept the Handler busy while I used the Corgi mechanoids." 

"I was drugged and nearly re-captured," she pouted. 

The Ladja smiled. "But you're safe now. So while Steed and my Emma were playing around with the dogs, the real plan proceeded flawlessly." 

Leov bristled at his choice of words: _My Emma_. 

She ran her hands through his hair. "The Handler's operations have been dismantled. Won't Moscow be upset?" 

"He got what he deserved. And you have no reason to be disappointed. You managed to evade your minders in the chaos at the dog show, and are now a free woman." 

"So you achieved your objective?" she asked. 

The man born Pyotr Pehlovich nodded. "Zeus came away with _this_." He pulled a small vial from his pocket and held it up to the light. 

Leov squinted at the label. "What is it?" 

"Formula Thirteen," he grinned evilly. "The source of my victory over John Steed." 

-oOo-


End file.
